


There Must Also Be a Lock

by whelvenwings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Fluff, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-08
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2018-04-25 12:13:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4960180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whelvenwings/pseuds/whelvenwings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas sighed. Prom season. Never his favourite time of year.<br/>And perhaps the worst part of the whole thing was how the seniors were expected to ask out their dates.<br/>“Padlocks!” Balthazar had announced, rattling a box full of them under the noses of the front row of the class the morning before. “Anyone ever heard of the Pont des Arts? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? I thought not. I am surrounded by philistines.”<br/>“Balthazar, you had to google it two days ago,” Cassie had heckled from the back, and the rest of the class had laughed. Balthazar had sneered teasingly back at Cassie, and left the box of padlocks on the teacher’s desk at the front of the room.<br/>____________________________________________________________<br/>Castiel knows exactly who he wants to ask to be his date to prom. When he sees Dean handing his padlock away, he knows that he must have lost his chance forever. Ignoring his best friend is hard, but easier than trying to pretend he isn't upset. But when the night of the prom comes around, whose name will be on Dean's padlock?</p>
            </blockquote>





	There Must Also Be a Lock

**Author's Note:**

  * For [perdizzion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/perdizzion/gifts).



The curve of metal sat heavy in Cas’ pocket, warm from the constant touch of his fingers.

He gripped it tight as he walked down the bleach-flavoured corridor, past rows of lockers, heading down towards the music department. All around him, there was a buzz of movement: hushed conversations, stifled laughs, rumours spreading through the students like breezes through a wheatfield.

_Did you hear who he asked… but I thought he was going with… no way, she never said no… but I thought he had a crush on… she’s way out of his league, though…_

Cas sighed. Prom season. Never his favourite time of year.

He walked onwards, passing a poster advertising the theme of this year’s attempt at revelry:  _Belle Paris,_ announced twirling lavender letters. Without a doubt the team behind the party would have spared no opportunity to be cliché, Castiel thought with a kind of dry fondness. Baguettes, Eiffel Towers, moustaches, stripy tops and berets; he should make some kind of French stereotype bingo card and check them off on the night.  And perhaps the worst part of the whole thing was how the seniors were expected to ask out their dates.

“Padlocks!” Balthazar had announced, rattling a box full of them under the noses of the front row of the class the morning before. “Anyone ever heard of the Pont des Arts? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? I thought not. I am  _surrounded_  by philistines.”

“Balthazar, you had to google it two days ago,” Cassie had heckled from the back, and the rest of the class had laughed. Balthazar had sneered teasingly back at Cassie, and left the box of padlocks on the teacher’s desk at the front of the room.

“Write your name and the name of your prospective beloved on the padlock,” he’d said, waving a couple of dry-wipe markers in the air. “Might want to use something impermanent if you’re aiming out of your league. I’m looking at you, Gabriel.”

Gabriel had thrown a balled-up piece of paper at Balthazar, and then checked to see if Kali was watching when it hit him squarely on the nose.

“Bring your padlocks to  _Belle Paris_  in two weeks’ time and attach them to our very own Pont des Arts, thereby to show your love is everlasting!” Balthazar had finished. He’d winked at Cas as he’d sat down, and Cas had smiled thinly back. He’d chewed his lip, resisting the urge to turn round in his seat and look at Dean. He knew what face he’d be making, anyway – rolling his eyes, but smiling.

Now, with his padlock in his pocket like hidden treasure and butterflies in his stomach, Cas was walking down the corridor looking for Dean. He’d taken a sharpie and written their names on his padlock with steady fingers this morning.  _Dean and Castiel._ In his head, he ran through the plan one more time. Step One, say hello to Dean. Step Two, ask Dean to come with him for a walk up Paradise Hill. Nothing strange about that. They went and sat at the top at least twice a week, usually; had done for years. Step Three, take the padlock out his pocket. Step Four…. say something? None of the words he could think of seemed quite right.

_You’ve been my best friend for years… I’ve never felt this way about anyone… I want to take you to this stupid cliché prom. I want to slow dance with you with an awkwardly respectable gap between us, I want to kiss you –_

Cas swallowed. He couldn’t just come out and  _say_ that, could he? Dean would probably laugh, thinking it was all a big joke. Actually, the risk of that happening was pretty high no matter  _what_ he said. This whole plan was ridiculous.

Just like every time Cas had been about to abandon the whole thing, an image of himself and Dean rose up in his mind: holding hands in their white tie suits, walking into the prom together, as  _dates._

Just thinking about it made his heart feel as though it was about to burst. And this was his last chance. They were leaving high school so soon and even though they were going to the same college, their majors were completely different and they probably wouldn’t be seeing all that much of each other when they were there. Cas had just a few short weeks left with Dean as his best friend, and… if he was brave enough… he could have just one perfect night.

It would have to be enough.

He slowed to a sudden halt in the middle of the corridor, catching sight of Dean leaning up against a locker, talking to someone just around the corner. Cas took a deep breath. This was it. Time to put the plan into action. Time to be brave, to ignore the mad whirling in his stomach, to just go over there and –

Dean pulled a padlock out of his pocket, and offered it to the person standing out of sight.

Cas watched, open-mouthed, frozen to the spot, as a slim hand stole the padlock away. Dean smiled, and then laughed at something the person said. He looked ecstatic. He was  _blushing_.

No, no, no, no, no, no,  _no_ –

Hand still clenched around the padlock in his pocket, Cas turned with a little lurch and began to walk away. His breath was coming in fat, thick gasps, like he’d been running.  _No, no, no._ How could this be happening?  _How_  could this be happening? He’d planned this, he’d planned it from start to finish, it had been going to be so perfect… his heart was battering his ribs, horror dripping down the back of his neck like cold water. He kept walking, the corridor swirling around him.  _No, no, no, no, no –_

“Cas!”

For once – for the first time in his whole life – Cas heard the sound of Dean’s voice with a clutch of dread in his stomach.

“Hello, Dean.”

He sensed Dean draw level with him, and looked down at the ground, keeping on walking. He was pretty sure he looked like he’d just seen someone die. If Dean saw, he’d want to know why…

“You OK, man?”

“Fine,” Cas ground out. His voice sounded like it was coming from thirty miles away. “I’m fine. Got a test later.”

“You’ll ace it,” Dean said, clapping his hand to Cas’ shoulder tightly and shaking him slightly, reassuringly. A group of seniors went past, giggling and whispering.

Dean snorted. “Prom season, right?”

“Right,” Cas managed. If he could make it to the bathrooms at the end of the corridor, he could shake Dean off there. He just needed an hour or three or four to get his head on straight, and then things could go back to normal. It was only because he’d got himself so stupidly excited about asking Dean to prom – it was only because in his heart of hearts, he’d really thought that he had a chance…

“Still,” Dean said, cutting into his thoughts, “could be fun.”

Cas risked a glance to his right. Dean was watching him keenly.

“You know, getting dressed up, eating fancy food… dancing,” he said with a grin, doing a little Saturday Night Fever as they walked. Any other day, Cas would have laughed along with him. Today, he could barely summon a quick nod in response. Dean pressed on.

“Yeah, could be good. Well, as long as you’re going with someone you like,” he said, more seriously. Taking another glance, Cas saw that Dean was looking down at the floor, his cheeks turning pink again. Thinking about the person he just asked to prom, then. Cas didn’t know if he wanted to punch a wall or cry or both.

“Not for me,” he said abruptly. “I’m going on my own.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dean’s head jerk up to stare at him.

“What?” Dean said, a little more urgently than Cas had been expecting. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No,” Cas said firmly. The bathrooms weren’t far, now. “I mean it. I’m not taking anyone to prom. Why should I? The whole idea of taking a date is… is stupid. And rooted in heteronormative thinking. I wouldn’t want to, anyway.”

There was a long pause.

“Oh,” said Dean, finally. Cas couldn’t look at him. He’d probably seen straight through Cas’ ruse; he must be looking at Cas so  _pityingly_ right now…

“I’ve got to use the bathroom,” Cas said, when they finally reached the end of the corridor.

“Right – right – I’ll…”

“See you later, Dean.”

“Oh, okay – well – hey, do you want to climb up Paradise Hill later on?”

A brief image flashed through Cas’ mind. Him and Dean, sitting on the bench at the top of Paradise Hill, the way it was  _supposed_ to be, Cas holding out his padlock to Dean – Dean smiling, and blushing, and saying yes –

“No,” Cas said, sharply, so that Dean wouldn’t hear the shake in his voice. “Not today.” He turned away without looking back at Dean, pushed through the door to the boy’s bathrooms, and barricaded himself in a cubicle. Then, and only then, he allowed himself to cry.

Two weeks passed in a blur of avoidance and solitude.

_> Cas, you want to watch a movie tonight?_

_I can’t. Have a test tomorrow <_

_> I got ur favorite snacks?_

_Sorry Dean. <_

And so it went on. No more walks up Paradise Hill, no more late-night texting, no more phone calls that lasted for hours as they did their homework together. No more buying a whole pie from the supermarket and splitting it half in half while watching TV on Dean’s sofa. No more top-to-toe sleepovers. No more pillow fights or staring contests. On the day Dean left it, Cas’ world went grey, grey, grey.

Sometimes he caught himself reaching for the padlock, still tucked into the pocket of his jacket, and running the tips of his fingers over the cold, cold metal. He should throw it away, but he could never quite manage to do it.

On the night before prom, he picked up his phone for the first time all day. Three missed calls from Dean, and a message.

_> Can we at least get a ride to prom together?_

Just the idea of sharing a car with Dean and his date to prom made Cas feel like he was falling off the top of a very high building. Why would Dean even  _ask_  that? Did he really think that his date would want Cas to be in the car with them? Cas dropped the phone as though it had bitten him. He was seriously considering not even going to the prom. What was the point?

But what if – what if Dean saw Cas in his suit, and – and then –

Cas ran a hand through his hair and sighed. He was so pathetic. There was no way that was ever going to happen.

He was going to go, though. Just in case.

The day of the prom, the school was a flurry of raucous activity: last-minute dates and dress-changes, speculation and preparation and expectation. The prom was being held at the glitziest hotel in town, only ten minutes down the road from the school, on the other side of Paradise Hill. Cas spent most of the day dodging in and out of class, taking care not to cross Dean’s path. Every now and then, he caught sight of one of his other friends – Charlie, Garth, Jo. When Charlie had caught his eye, it had been with a strange intensity; he had a feeling that Dean must have talked to her about how strangely he’d been acting recently. Not ready for any kind of intervention, Cas avoided her, too. He avoided all of them.

In the evening, he pulled on his suit with a kind of painful hope. He’d decided to wear the tie that Dean had bought him for Homecoming:  _blue, to match your eyes._ The memory was an ache, the silky tie soft between his fingers. He knotted it carelessly, and tugged on his suit jacket. He was about to head out of his bedroom, when he paused – and went over to his bed, and picked up the coat that was lying on it.

He chewed on his lip for a moment, and then roughly reached inside the right-hand pocket for the padlock. Stupid,  _stupid_ thing. His and Dean’s names were still as bold as ever, despite the amount of time he’d spent holding it. He shoved it into his jacket pocket.

Just in case.

It was heavy, too heavy for him to forget that it was there, making him feel lopsided. He headed out of his room and down the stairs.

At the prom, everything was just as clichéd and ridiculous as Cas had known it would be. He walked up the gravel drive to the hotel, the cool evening air filled with the sounds of laughter, the scent of flowers and perfume.

“Bonjour, bonjour!” Balthazar greeted the seniors, standing outside the hotel in a suit and a large, twirled fake moustache.

“Bonsoir,” Castiel corrected him as he walked past, earning himself a narrow-eyed glare that turned quickly into a smirk.

“You’re not  _dateless_ , are you, Castiel?”

“Don’t act like you didn’t know,” Cas said moodily. Jo walked past, hand in hand with Anna. She gave him an awkward wave when she caught his eye.

Balthazar chuckled.

“I had heard it on the grapevine,” he said. “Never fear, Castiel. I’m sure your knight in shining armour will turn up.”

Cas shrugged and put his hands in his pockets.

“Did Dean arrive yet?”

“You mean you don’t know?” Balthazar said, looking mock-shocked. “Did you finally see a doctor about the whole ‘attached-at-the-hip’ issue?”

Cas glared at him.

“Hey, you have to hit the sore point if you want to score the point. No, I didn’t see Winchester go in yet. Now go inside, and let me do my job.” Balthazar made a little shooing motion, before turning back to the crowds of arriving seniors. “Bonsoir, bonsoir! Bienvenue!”

Within the hotel, the light from a huge chandelier sparkled over sequined dresses and shining necklaces in the hallway. Suited hotel attendants directed the crowd into a darkened room; Cas could hear the sound of classical music being played. Letting himself be carried in the crush through the doors, he couldn’t help his mouth falling open: the high-ceilinged room had a huge feed of the Eiffel Tower at night projected up on one wall, fireworks going off silently in the background. The tables were decorated beautifully, with enormous sprays of roses and crisp white tablecloths and red napkins each folded into a fleur-de-lys.

Pretty impressive, Cas had to admit, even as he crossed ‘Eiffel Tower’ off his list of French clichés for the evening.

“Not bad, is it?” said a voice to Cas’ left. Cas swallowed before looking down.

“Charlie,” he said, by way of greeting. “Um. Excuse me, I have to…”

Charlie’s hand closed on his arm.

“Cas, you haven’t spoken to anyone apart from Dean in two weeks,” she said worriedly. “And you only spoke to him to blow him off. What’s got into you?”

“Charlie, I can’t – I’ve got to go, um, use the bathroom.”

“But, Cas, there’s something you should –”

“See you later, Charlie,” Cas said, tugging his arm out of her grip and turning away.

And finding himself face to face with Dean.

“Hey,” Dean said, looking as stunned as Cas felt, his mouth opening and closing a few times. Cas stared at him, speechless. He looked different – maybe he’d parted his hair a different way – and he was wearing a bow tie and a sleek, fitted jacket.

“Looking good,” said Dean, awkwardness bending his tone a strange shape. Someone pushed past Cas, jolting him forwards; Dean reached out an arm to hold him steady, and Cas caught the scent of his cologne. Dean never wore cologne. This date of his must be something pretty special, if he’d bothered to put it on. Cas swallowed hard.

“You look dressed to impress, too,” he said dryly. Dean’s eyes widened; two pink spots appeared on his cheeks.

“You – you don’t like it?” he said, shoulders curling inwards. The little laugh he gave sounded as though it had been forced through a grinder. “Yeah, I mean, it’s a dumb suit, I’m never gonna look good in it.”

“No, no – I didn’t mean you don’t look good –” Cas said. The bustle of people around them was making it hard to hear, hard to breathe; Cas glanced behind Dean but couldn’t see any sign of his mystery date, whoever they were. So they had a few moments, then. “Dean, look – I – I just want to say that…”

What did he want to say?

He had no idea.

“Cas – it’s mad in here,” Dean said. “Do you want to go up Paradise Hill?”

Cas’ eyes widened for a fraction of a second, before he frowned.

“It’s prom,” he said blankly. Dean nodded.

“Yeah,” he said. “I know. Do you want to?”

Cas stared into his eyes.  _Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes._ But Dean was here on a  _date._ He couldn’t just abscond with some other poor person’s date, could he? Even if that date was his best friend, even if he was in love, even if he wanted to go more badly than he’d ever wanted to do  _anything_ , ever? That would be so selfish. But Dean was looking at him with something in his eyes, something… deep, and hopeful, something important. God, Cas loved him so  _much_ , it hit him right then like a wave rolling over him. He couldn’t just let Dean disappear off with some other person for the rest of the night, he just… couldn’t. He had to at least  _try._

“OK,” Cas said, nodding. “OK. Let’s go up the hill.”

Dean’s expression flitted through emotions too quickly for even Cas to follow them. He reached out and took hold of Cas’ hand, lightly, as though it were made of glass. Cas allowed himself to be led through the crowd in Dean’s wake, pushing through the hallway and out into the darkening evening. Balthazar, mercifully, was nowhere to be seen; only the last few stragglers were making their way indoors for the meal.

“We’re going to miss the food,” Cas said, making sure that Dean understood the gravity of the decision he was making. Dean turned, seeming to realise that he was still holding Cas’ hand very suddenly, and letting it go. Cas curled his fingers up tight, closing the gaps between them.

“Are you hungry?” Dean asked. “If – if you don’t want to come…”

“No, no,” Cas said, waving his hand. They started walking, heading back up the gravel drive, towards the low, dark shoulder against the sky that was Paradise Hill. “I was worried that you wouldn’t want to miss the dessert.”

“I do love dessert,” Dean conceded, with a grin. Cas smiled back at him, and stuffed his hands into his pockets so that he wouldn’t be tempted to reach out and try to hold Dean’s again.

“I know,” he said. “Remember the time we made apple and cherry pie with your mom?”

Dean chuckled, shaking his head at the memory. They were walking on grass, now, their shiny black shoes sliding through it with a gentle  _hush hush._

“There was less than half left,” he said. “I swear to God –”

“Dean, when we went to bed, there was three quarters of the pie left. And you ate the whole thing in the middle of the night.”

“We do that all the time, now! Half each –”

“Dean, you were  _seven_.”

They trod along the path of the well-known argument with good grace, grinning at each other. After two weeks of estrangement, being back in Dean’s company felt like a fish returning to water; Cas couldn’t stop smiling.

“You shouldn’t judge me. I know about the burger incident.”

Cas turned to Dean with wide eyes.

“That was  _one_ time!”

They argued their way up the hill, occasionally pushing each other sideways or clasping each other’s arm for support when they tilted their heads back on a laugh, making slow progress and not minding at all. Cas was pretty sure his face must be shining with happiness. They were approaching the plateau at the top of the hill when Dean clapped his arm around Cas’ shoulders and shook him ever so slightly, still smiling.

“I missed you this past couple weeks,” he said. “Feels like I spent ‘em living under a cloud.”

“Me too,” Cas said. He summoned up his courage. “I – I’m sorry. For not talking to you, or coming over for movie night, or dinner. And not going swimming with you. Or giving you the answers to that math homework. Or bringing over that book you wanted.”

“Or helping me with that art project,” Dean added.

“Or helping you with that art project,” Cas confirmed.

“Actually… I made up the art project.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. I just wanted to hang out. But I thought you might come if I said I needed help.”

They were at the top of the hill, now. Cas’ legs were burning, like they always did by the time they reached the plateau. Dean squeezed his shoulder and let go, taking warmth and comfort with him. Cas shivered as they made for the bench to one side, the one where they always sat and looked down over the school, the houses, and beyond them the fields that stretched to the horizon.

The silence had stretched long enough between them that Cas could have just left the end of that line of conversation trailing. All it would take was a sigh, a small noise to break the last vestiges of tension and tide them over into talking about something else.

Cas looked over at Dean. Dean smiled back at him, a little too bravely.

Dean should not need to be brave. Dean should  _not_ need to be brave. Cas felt the words thrum in his chest.  _Dean should not need to be brave._

And the only way to make this easy for Dean was to be brave, himself. Oh, but if he started down this road, it could only lead to one place…

“I wanted to come,” Cas said, the first words spilling out like red wine over a white tablecloth, indelible. He looked over at Dean as they took their usual places on the bench, legs nudging each other because they had to sit close to avoid the big splinter on one side. Dean was frowning, looking confused.

“You did?”

“Yes, Dean. Very much. You know, there’s nowhere I’d rather be than…” he paused, and cleared his throat, leaning forwards slightly so that Dean couldn’t see so much of his face. “I couldn’t come.”

“Why – why not? Is this… it’s not because of prom, is it? Because Charlie swears she didn’t tell you…”

Cas felt a horrible sinking in his stomach.

“No, Charlie didn’t tell me,” he said. “I saw you.”

Dean went very still. Cas could hear him breathing through his open mouth as he tried to figure out what to say. He laced his fingers together, waiting for Dean to be able to speak.

“At – at the store?” Dean said softly, eventually. “Or… or did you just see me holding it?”

He sounded as though he was about to cry. Perhaps he was already crying.

Also, what he’d said made absolutely no sense.

“What?” Cas said, turning round to face him. Sure enough, there were tears in his eyes. Cas couldn’t help himself; he reached out and grasped Dean’s hand tightly. Seeing Dean cry always set him off, too, it always had. “Dean, don’t… what do you mean? I saw you in the corridor.”

“Saw me with it?” Dean said, his mouth working to stay flat. “I knew it. I knew when you brushed me off, on the day I wanted to ask you. I knew you’d seen it and you were mad –” He lifted one hand to wipe the tears out of his eyes furiously, gripping Cas’ fingers with the other. “I just didn’t think you’d mind, you know? I really… God, I really thought I had a chance.”

Cas’ heart was thudding in his chest, almost painfully hard.

“Dean,” he said, quietly, because if he spoke any louder, he thought he might scare the hope clean away. “Dean – I don’t understand.”

Dean pressed his lips together tightly, and shrugged, looking up at the sky.

“It’s simple, Cas. I wanted to ask you to prom, because I like you. You didn’t want to come with me, because you don’t think of me that way. Simple,” he said again, lips trembling, trying so hard to be brave.

_Dean, you don’t need to be brave._

“No, no, no, no –” Cas said, even as his heart pounded against his ribs,  _yes YES yes YES yes YES yes YES…_ “Dean, that can’t be… I  _saw_ you, I saw you in the corridor, giving your padlock to someone else!”

Dean stared at him as though he’d gone mad. Cas wondered if he actually  _had,_ for a second – but he knew what he’d seen, Dean passing over his padlock with smiles and blushes. There was no way he’d imagined that; the memory was stamped across his brain.

“That’s not poss-” Dean began, frowning, his face tear-blushed and tight; but then, suddenly, it cleared. “Oh,” he said. “I showed it to Charlie. Right before I saw you in the corridor, actually. That’s the only time I got it out at school. She thought it was nice, she…” Dean ducked his head with a little embarrassed smile, a tearful chuckle. “She said that you were gonna fall into my arms and kiss me right there. Bet me ten bucks on it.” His smile vanished as he looked back up at Cas. “Wait, you thought – you thought I was asking Charlie to prom? But you must’ve known she’d go with Gilda…”

For a long moment, Cas couldn’t even speak.

“I – I couldn’t see that it was Charlie,” Cas said, in a very, very small voice. The full weight of his mistake kept swinging back round to hit him again, like a wrecking ball to the stomach. “I only saw you, and you were – you looked so…” Dean’s eyes were flickering over his face, trying to understand. “Dean, I’m so sorry,” Cas whispered. “I thought that you asked someone else, and I was going to ask you, and when I saw you I had to get away, I was so embarrassed, and –”

“Wait, wait,  _wait_ ,” Dean said, holding up his hand palm-first, stilling Cas’ words. “You –  _you_ were going to ask  _me_?”

Cas swallowed hard. Was he allowed to be happy, yet? What if Dean didn’t feel that way anymore, what if two weeks’ of sulking and silence had ended it? What if Cas had already broken something that he hadn’t known had even begun?

He reached into his pocket, slowly, and drew out his padlock. He rubbed his thumb over its cool surface, before holding it out for Dean to see. Their names were there, in bold black marker, strong as ever.  _Dean and Castiel._

Dean made a small noise in his throat, and delved into his own pocket. He drew out something small, and silver, and shining, and Cas was shaking, and it wasn’t possible, it wasn’t possible,  _it wasn’t possible…_

“I had it done a little special,” Dean said. “It was you or no one, so.”

He uncurled his fingers. In his palm sat his padlock, identical to Cas’ in every way, except – on one smooth, chrome side, were three words, encased in a heart. Not just written,  _engraved_.

_Dean and Castiel._

Cas looked up at Dean, and he knew exactly what to say.

“Dean... I love you,” he whispered, and he put his hand up to Dean’s face, pressing his palm to Dean’s cheek.

“You – you really…?”

“I love you. I  _love_ you, so much. I love you  _so much…_ ” Dean collapsed into his touch, his eyes locked on Cas’ as he reached up and hooked his shaking fingers under Cas’ chin.

Cas felt his lips tremble, and Dean stretched up his thumb to run over the lower one, steadying it.

“I love you, too,” Dean said hoarsely. “I’ve loved you since before I knew what that meant. Cas…”

“Kiss me,” Cas murmured, eyes wide, tangling his fingers in Dean’s hair. “Dean, kiss me.”

Dean pressed forwards, hesitant at first; their first kiss was a trembling, shaking thing, until Cas tilted his head, and Dean moved in a little closer, and then suddenly there was no more waiting, no more bravery, no more worry or doubt or hesitation, only  _yes,_ and  _like this?_ and  _yes…_

“I love you,” Dean muttered again, against Cas’ lips.

“I love you,” Cas replied. “I love you, I love you.” A litany, a love poem.

“I always have. I always will.”

Cas kissed him again, smiling.

“I wonder if anyone’s wondering where we got to,” he said. “They’ll all be eating and dancing and taking photos…” He trailed off, getting distracted by the way Dean’s eyes looked in this light, by the soft dusting of freckles over his nose, by the blush still pink on his cheeks.

“We’ll have our own photoshoot,” Dean said, grinning and slipping his hand into his pocket, pulling out his phone. “Come here.” It was too dark for the pictures to come out too well, but they smiled anyway, forgetting to look at the camera every time they caught each other’s eyes. For the last photo, Dean pressed his lips to Castiel’s cheek unexpectedly; Cas caught a glimpse of his own smile on the phone screen just before the picture snapped: small and so, so bright, eyes wide with surprise.

“Hey, Cas?” Dean said, lowering the phone and reaching for Cas’ hand. “Cas… can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” Cas said, pressing a kiss to Dean’s cheek in return.

“OK, uh. Um. Would - would you – would you…uh…” He was bright red again, red to the tips of his ears. Cas almost laughed.

“What?” he asked, sliding his hand up against Dean’s cheek. He liked the way it rested there, fitting so perfectly.

“Would you… be my boyfriend?”

Cas couldn’t even kiss him, he was smiling so hard.

“Yes,” he said, butterflies in his stomach whirling with happiness. “Yes, please, Dean.”

When they finally left, the sky was dark above them. As they walked away, hand in hand, the moonlight bathed them in cool blue – and glinted, too, off two silver padlocks. For years to come, students and teachers and walkers and visitors would climb to the plateau and look for the locks: the silver locks, forever strong, clasped to the arm of the splintered bench at the top of Paradise Hill.


End file.
